


The Facility

by ren_makoto



Series: Freedom Will it Capture, and Lordship in a Wilderness of its Own [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Dragons, F/M, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Violence, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_makoto/pseuds/ren_makoto
Summary: At the final battle against Draco Malfoy's forces, a desperate Harry Potter cast a wild spell to save the life of Severus Snape. Then Harry disappeared. The spell that revived Severus keeps him alive through the centuries, but Severus longs to die and finally have peace. Haunted by the memories of Harry--his greatest student, and more--Severeus works to create a potion that will grant his wish. On the day he finally succeeds, Harry returns. He brings hell with him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Character(s), Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Severus Snape/Original Character(s)
Series: Freedom Will it Capture, and Lordship in a Wilderness of its Own [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124378
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Blah, blah, something about serial numbers. 
> 
> This does have mature/explicit content later on. I'll update the rating and tags as things get steamy.

**Prologue**

_The Present, Area 42_

It was sunset, and Severus Snape was standing in the desert. He was looking at the brand new fortress of a building that housed what Potter had called 'the Wilderness.' The Director, however, had jokingly named the whole structure 'Area 42' shortly after the swamp sprang up suddenly in the middle of nowhere. The building had a high, steel-supported glass dome that let the blooming moonlight filter down into the swampy jungle.

Since its first appearance, Severus had realized that Area 42 held the answers to his problems. He couldn't get to Potter's Wilderness, but through some twist of fate, the Wilderness had come to him. Severus wanted to be inside, so he simply was.

He was dismayed that it was far too easy for someone like him to come and go from this place, which wasn't safe. Not that there was anybody left like him—like Hermione or Potter or even Draco Malfoy. Even still, he made up his mind to fix the problem after he left. He'd make it so that no one could get in ever again.

Severus was exhausted, for he hadn't been sleeping well. When he closed his eyes, he saw Potter lifeless on that table, surrounded by all those machines. Sometimes he drifted only to wake from the feel of phantom kisses against his lips.

Potter was haunting him.

And yesterday, Severus had risen from bed after a sleepless night and decided that he'd had enough. Of everything. He was tied to the Wilderness, bound to it, but not for much longer.

Above him, the dome of the building was obscured by the gnarled branches of the trees. He walked through the swamp, the ground sucking at his feet, and the wet, dripping vines catching at his arms. Something low to the ground and fast raced past him, deeper into the thickets and brush. He unconsciously grabbed at his stomach, remembering too well what it felt like to be slashed open by something fast and unnatural. He didn't know how long he trudged through the forest before he came to a clearing. Time was strange here.

The clearing wasn't bright with moonlight for all that there was no canopy. No life at all. None of the animals and beasts, or insects, or slithering little things came anywhere near here. Severus knew he had found what he was looking for.

It was small and black with a dark red center, like a bloody eye looking out from midnight. The petals—five in all—were black, as were the leaves and the stem. If death could look like a flower, then this was surely it.

Severus reached out and plucked it neatly from the ground. In the distance, something roared and Severus knew he had outstayed his welcome.

Before he left the Wilderness, he worked a little on the doors, on the glass, on every way he could find into the place. There were always doors, even ones that no one could see. He locked them up tightly.

No one ever needed to visit the Wilderness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asleep for 1000 years, Harry Potter wakes up in a new, strange world. Only one thing matters to him: he will find Severus Snape.

_Present Day, The Facility_

When they finally finished their sweep, the intruder was gone. Some of the guards thought it was just a surprise, late-night, preparedness drill; or possibly some kind of punishment. At the barked orders from Major Shacklebolt over the radios, they wised up quickly. Over the next twenty, panic-filled minutes, access points to each level were checked for breaches, but all of them were active and functioning properly. None showed signs of tampering. The guards stood down, but stayed alert. There was an oppressive feeling of uncertainty in the air. No one understood what was happening or how.

The screaming of the alarm took longer than expected to shut down due to some inexplicable mechanical problems. Engineers and scientists with bleary eyes rushed through the halls on bare feet or in slippers. They skirted the armed guards with worried expressions. Finally, the massive research facility was quiet again. The flashing red warning lights halted. The Major's voice howled over the radio once more: he wanted answers. Now.

Major Shacklebolt and a handful of senior guards crowded into the security booth and loomed over the technician as he retrieved the data. Normally, the Director of the facility would have been present, but he was out of town. He was expected to return within a day, but until then, they would have to send word ahead and hope it reached him.

The technician's nimble fingers worked the control panel expertly. He hummed a little as data flashed across the screen. "A system sweep does show an anomaly, Major. Only one level was breached," he said.

"Where?"

"Um. Level One. The Tank. Sir."

Shacklebolt paused. "Show me."

The surveillance footage revealed nothing out of the ordinary on the visible channels. When the technician switched to thermal, however, it was a different story.

He enlarged the image and focused on the Tank with its strange wires and tubes. The sight was a familiar one for everyone present. Inside the hulking apparatus, Potter floated—a lazy, slow, up and down. The liquid that held him fluctuated from green to amber and made him look like a ghost in a scary story. As always, he was bare to the waist, eyes closed. His long hair tangled in the slow currents around him.

"There," said Shacklebolt, tapping the monitor. "Right there. What is that?"

The technician squinted at the screen. "I…think it's a handprint, sir."

Without being prompted, the technician rewound the footage to before the anomaly registered. They all watched, silent and tense. Pressure plates in the floor told the story: the intruder hadn't stolen anything, hadn't broken into their databases or accessed files. Instead, he had simply walked to the Tank and placed his hand on the glass, directly over Potter's heart. And he'd stood like that for five minutes before the facility's security system finally woke up.

It was impossible, said Shacklebolt. It was a trick of the camera. The technicians checked and rechecked, but no explanations were forthcoming. The only proof they had that there had been a security breach at all was a team of exhausted support staff and the thermal imaging footage that showed the perfect mark of a handprint warming the glass. They had been visited, it seemed, by an invisible man.

Shacklebolt frowned at the monitor, thinking.

He kept watching the footage until, slowly, lingeringly, the handprint started to fade.

* * *

_Present Day, Snape Castle_

Severus Snape had decided ages ago to go through with it. Now that he had the means right at his fingertips, it seemed silly to delay. But since it was all in his hands, all up to him, he also decided that he wanted it to be in the comfort of his own home. After all, here is where he had spent both the best and worst times of his long life. He found it appropriate to spend the last moments of it drowning in the memories stirred up merely by being here. He wanted to do this his way.

So he put on his favorite record, opened all the curtains, and slipped into his favorite slippers. He put his feet up on the antique table. The place was his, after all. It had been his for quite some time.

It was a graceful, but massive, stone castle. It had never fallen—a true siege castle, one of the greatest ever built. Snape Castle, it was called. He'd realized one day that people assumed it was named after one of his ancestors. A little old lady at the store had asked him if he knew much about his namesake. He'd been confused for a whole day until he realized that everyone knew that a man named _Severus_ Snape had built Snape Castle. He amused himself sometimes by imagining what people would say if they learned that the castle was named after him, Severus, himself. He laughed at the idea that they would lock him up. Or _try_ to lock him up, anyway.

The castle was registered as a historical landmark with a dozen or so different organizations and societies. They sent him annoying letters begging for access to the grounds, the gardens, and the antique roses. They wanted to see the tapestries; they wanted to take pictures of his library and thumb through his rare books. He kept a stack of such letters next to the fireplace: they made excellent kindling.

Now, he supposed, those professors of history and patrons of the arts were all going to get what they wanted. The damn _horticulturalists_. He had no heirs, he had no will. And, unlike Hermione, he had no great mission to complete with his wealth. The vultures would come and pick over his belongings and argue with each other over, over—well, yes—over the bloody roses, if they wanted! And the library!

They could have it all. He didn't care. Not anymore. He'd even said goodbye like a proper gentleman. It probably made him a sentimental idiot, but he guessed he was allowed.

He shifted to get more comfortable in his favorite chair. It faced the windows and gave him an excellent view of the rose garden. It was the last time he'd ever get to see it, which was a thought that wasn't as sad as he knew it should be.

The brandy snifter on the table looked harmless enough. Inside it was a dark, crimson liquid. It had taken roughly five years to make the potion between all the failures and setbacks and doubts and fears. He'd been down to one petal of that cursed flower by the end and afraid to waste it. But now he was ready. He took a deep breath.

And lifted the glass.

"Well, Potter," he said as he swirled the snifter to watch the light from the oil lamp play across the liquid, "here's to you."

He took a long, deep mouthful. For all that he had designed it to work quickly, he was still surprised that it hit so hard and so fast. The snifter smashed against the floor. His eyes widened. He clutched at his throat and struggled to his feet. His body shook and convulsed while his eyes watered. He could taste blood in his mouth and he started coughing thick, violent coughs. _So this_ , he thought, _is what it feels like to die_. At last.

This time he had, apparently, gotten it right.

As he tilted to the ground, he caught sight of a figure standing by the window, watching him. He blacked out for a second, but when he came to again, he forced his swimming vision to focus on the boy by the window. He was green and amber in color and shimmering ever so slightly. Severus could see the rose garden through him.

He wasn't really there—he was a vision from the past. The boy was so thin that his clothing sagged off of him. His eyes were huge and innocent, but his mouth was cruel.

Potter hadn't been that young in a long, long, time. Severus stretched out a grasping, clawed hand to him. The boy just looked on.

"Are you waiting," Severus croaked at the specter, "for me to change my mind? Or are you waiting to hear me say 'I told you so'?"

Severus shuddered again then gasped for air. His stomach was on fire, his head tumbling like an acrobat. For all that he'd wanted to die, he found himself afraid quite suddenly.

Right before his heart stopped, his last thought was, _I wonder if Potter will let me get away with this._

* * *

_Present Day, The Facility_

Twice in less than forty-eight hours was a little much for Major Shacklebolt. The alarms roused the entire complex once again. The halls were crowded with personnel and staff who all looked confounded and frustrated that something like this could happen twice. This time, there was no intruder.

The engineers got the alarm off more quickly than before. The screaming siren went silent with a dragging whine. A few levels offered up cheers, but most everyone was too tired and irritated to celebrate something as small as an alarm shutting off. Something weird was going on.

The Major slammed the door of the security booth when he entered.

"That wasn't a security alarm, sir," explained the technician once the cursing stopped. It was maybe the same technician from the night before, but Shacklebolt couldn't tell. They were all starting to blur together.

"What the hell kind of alarm was it?" he demanded.

"That…that was the Tank, sir. It was meant to tell the staff doctors of a change in the patient's status. In his vitals. We've got a team on Level One now. The medical staff is en route…"

Shacklebolt's shoulders sagged. He dragged a heavy hand over his face. "Damn. Well, I suppose we knew it would happen one day. We should alert the Grangers. They'll want to start making arrangements for the body."

The technician coughed politely into his fist. "I think you misunderstood me, sir," he said slowly.

The Major's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"He's not dead, sir. He's awake."

* * *

Major Shacklebolt had very little reason to go to the Tank. He'd been inside the massive subterranean bunker that served as a medical facility only a dozen times or so that he could recall. Oh, he had _seen_ the boy in the Tank many times to be sure, but usually through the safe distance granted by security cameras. He knew of Potter through summarized medical reports given bi-monthly by big-headed scientists and doctors. He updated the Granger Family on his status whenever they came by for a visit just the same, as if he himself had been there taking down the numbers and filling out the charts. It was his job, after all—beyond merely keeping the facility safe—to keep them happy and informed.

He didn't like the Tank.

He didn't like the fact that undisclosed amounts of money were being poured into the Granger Research Facility to keep one man alive. He didn't like the idea that there were hospitals out there that could use that money to save people who still had a fighting chance.

Because he'd seen dead men in war. He'd killed men himself, watched the light in their eyes dim. He knew what dead looked like.

And the man in the Tank—Potter—was dead. Shacklebolt had known that the first minute he saw him. The Granger heiress could keep him on ice as long as she wanted and it wouldn't change a thing. Shacklebolt knew the truth. He'd thought he knew the truth. And now…

Level One was cold. He could see his breath as he stood before the ceiling-high tube surrounded by wires, pipes, and machinery. The glass had been wiped clean soon after the security team had dusted for prints. There was no sign now that an invisible man had ever come to visit Potter.

"Where is Dumbledore?" Shacklebolt asked, referring to the Director.

"Still tied up, sir," said one of the guards behind him. "He messaged to say he won't be back for another day at least."

"Damn," said Shacklebolt. He didn't like dealing with this alone. The Director had a calm demeanor and a cool head under fire. He would have been an asset to have around at a time like this. Shacklebolt cursed again and clenched his jaw.

And Potter was staring at him. It was unsettling.

What made it so creepy was that he had never seen Potter's eyes open before. He had no idea what color they were with the odd fluid surrounding him turning every color ghostly green, but they were bright, almost as if they were glowing.

"Has he…tried to talk to anyone?"

"No," Dr. Lockheart replied. He was a tall, blonde man with a bland countenance. He stood at the Major's shoulder with a chart in his hand. Whenever he looked at Potter, it was with a frown on his face. "His brain isn't any more or less active than it was before. For all intents and purposes, nothing's changed. He's just opened his eyes."

"The technician said his vitals changed."

A page of the chart was flipped. "They did. His pulse is up as is his blood pressure. We're registering muscle movement in his arms and legs. It's subtle, but it's there."

"But his mind—"

"Look, Major: there is no reason to hope for a change." Lockheart shrugged. "I have no reason to believe that he's any more aware of his surroundings than he was before. For all we know, it's just muscles moving. Spasms."

"Has this ever happened before?" asked Shacklebolt.

"Mmm," said Lockheart, but it could have meant anything.

Lockheart studied the Tank for a moment, then focused all his attention on Shacklebolt. He seemed to be rallying himself to make a well-prepared speech with a deep breath and a squaring of his shoulders. "I said it five years ago and I'll say it again: it would be a greater courtesy to let this poor boy go. It's quality of life, not quantity of life—"

As he spoke, there was a small, almost imperceptible rumble. Several of the medical assistants in the room looked up from their stations, mouths turned down and eyebrows raised.

"Uh, Dr. Lockheart," one of them tried.

Another shudder, followed by a dangerous sounding _beep_.

"Just a minute," the doctor snapped. "I'm talking to the Major." He used his most ingratiating tone. "I know the Director listens to you. Perhaps you could get him to reconsider his position on Potter. He has certain… _controversial_ ideas about my patient that are, frankly, unfounded. It is long past time for the Granger Family to consider investing their resources in, say, a research hospital—"

_"Severus."_

Shacklebolt took a jerky step back. It caused the doctor to frown more than ever. "Are you okay, Major?"

"He spoke," Shacklebolt said. He had gone pale and sounded breathless.

"Excuse me?"

Shacklebolt gaped at him. "You didn't hear that?"

"Hear _what_?" snapped the doctor.

"He said…I don't know _what_ he said. He said something."

"If he spoke, we'd see it in the data," huffed Lockheart. "Now, as I was saying—"

"Dr. Lockheart, you really need to see this!" one of the assistants shouted across the room. "It's the EEG, it's—"

There was a pulse, a wave, a spark of white. It was followed by a thunderous, wavering, ringing sound like the reverberations of a massive bell, only endless and high-pitched like a tuning fork. Everyone covered their ears, squeezed their eyes closed.

There was a beat of silence. Then two. A white world stretched on and on all around them; the bunker had disappeared into nothingness.

"Severus," a voice whispered. "I'm _not_ letting you get away with this."

Then everything flashed back into focus. The whiteness fell away and the color of the world leaked back in.

Everyone looked around in confusion. Someone screamed when the glass of the Tank shattered. Lockheart and Shacklebolt reeled back from the shards of heavy, dagger-like glass flying at them so fast, so fast, so…

When nothing happened, when nothing cut their hands or their faces, they opened their eyes cautiously. The glass was hovering in mid-air, motionless. Gallons of the strange fluid flooded the floor of the bunker. Equipment sparked and control boards went down with painful, electronic groans. The glass only hung there.

Shacklebolt reached out a shaking hand to a wedge of glass the size of a kitchen knife where it hovered a hand's breadth away from his heart. He could see a thousand Potters in the surface of the shard, splintering and wavering in the emergency lighting. He almost felt like he could pluck the glass right out of the air, right out of the moment where it was halted.

Until it exploded into countless beads of water that came falling down like rain, splashing into the puddles of green and amber fluid sloshing on the floor. All the glass, in fact, exploded and rained down. It sounded like a million windows breaking. The room smelled strangely of ozone until the very last drop made the fluid ripple out in waves. Everything was quiet again.

Shacklebolt and the medical staff took the calm moment to move. Everyone stood up slowly and lowered their arms from where they had been protecting their faces. They looked to the Tank. Potter was still floating, even without the fluid. His hair hung damp and stringy over his thin shoulders. It was the color of bleached paper and looked coarse and brittle. It was the hair of an old man, but his face was young and handsome. Shacklebolt noted, almost absently, that his eyes were green.

Lockheart staggered and caught himself on Shacklebolt's shoulder. "My god," he whispered. He seemed afraid to blink, afraid to look away.

Potter took a step in the air, stepping lightly over the jagged glass still attached to the machinery. Once he was clear of the Tank, he landed with a soft splash. He looked directly at Shacklebolt.

"Where is Severus Snape?" he croaked weakly. His voice was barely audible. It occurred to Shacklebolt that it was to be expected. After all, Potter had never moved—more or less spoken—in the four years Shacklebolt had worked at the facility. And what about the Major in charge before him? And the Major before _him_? Not for the first time, Shacklebolt wondered exactly how old Potter was. The Granger Research Institute was ancient. It was, famously, one of the oldest institutions of its kind in the world. He knew that. What he didn't know was how long Potter had been housed here in the Institute's newest facility. He was starting to get an idea and he didn't actually like it. There was too damn much he didn't know about the mysterious patient and the odd technology that kept him alive.

And he wished—also not for the first time—that he'd asked a few more questions before taking the gravy job.

"Dr. Lockheart," Shacklebolt said after a moment, "I think you had better call the Grangers. Tell them it's urgent."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus' attempt to end his long life hits a snag.

_ Present Day, Snape Castle _

There was an awful lot of motionless darkness, silence, and still air. Then, suddenly, Severus was drifting on nothing. A cold breeze stirred a distant patter of rain, splashing it against walls he couldn't see. He heard the sound of shattering glass. There was something very wrong about all of it. Above and below him was vast white so bright it scorched his eyes. He could feel, quite awkwardly, that he was not breathing and that his heart was not beating. He tried closing his eyes, but the whiteness was still there, clinging to the back of his eyelids. It was strange, but he didn't exactly _ feel _ dead. He'd been chasing death so long that he imagined he'd recognize it when he finally got it.

_ Thud _ , went his heart.

He had just gotten used to it not beating, so the sensation of it jump starting in his chest was kind of itchy. It made him squirm in his own skin.

_ Thud _ , it went again and the sound was echoed by someone's saying his name quite clearly.

"Oh, blast," Severus said and then his heart went,  _ thud, thud, thud _ , and just kept on going.

Severus sat bolt upright on the floor beside a spreading puddle of poison and the shards of glass from his broken snifter. Snape Castle was as it had always been. He coughed and vomited and felt the awful potion in his nose and coating his tongue. He was shaking and the world was spinning. His clothing clung to him with sweat while his eyes felt scratchy and dry. It took a second of careful maneuvering to get to his hands and knees. As he crawled, he dry heaved. He managed to turn his head to the window; it was dark outside, his roses shrouded in midnight. How long had it been since he died?

Yes, that was it. He had died. And now he was, undoubtedly, alive again.

He ran out of steam at the base of the grand staircase and collapsed right beneath a tapestry he'd been sure he'd never see again.

"Damn you, Potter," he coughed. "Why won't you just let me die?"

Severus realized that he was mad as hell about breathing—about  _ living _ despite having succeeded at last—and that he wanted nothing more than to grab Potter by the shoulders, shake him a lot, and maybe slap him once or twice. Even if he had to crack the Tank open himself—even if he knew Potter wouldn't feel a damn thing when he hit him—it would make Severus feel better.

Luckily, Severus knew just where to find him.

It was with shock and surprise that Severus reached out into the desert, stretched out his senses to the sand, expecting nothing, and instead found—ah, there!—light. Light like he hadn't felt in five years. It blazed and pulsed and rolled like one lover against another. Severus could only sit there, stunned and speechless. His mind latched onto the light, followed it as it moved.

And Severus couldn't discern if the ache he felt in his heart while dogging that warm, pulsing glow was anger or hope or fear. While he fretted over what to do now, he decided—considering his past with Potter—that he was probably feeling all those things simultaneously.

Now the question was what, exactly, to do about it.

* * *

_ Present Day, The Facility _

In the cold, metal sublevel of the Granger Research Facility, Potter was distracted. He seemed capable of answering only half of their questions. Many of the words they said he repeated as if they were too strange and new for him to fathom. All the rest of the time, his expression went blank and his body went very still. He would stay like that for minutes at a time. When one of the nurses asked him where he was when he got quiet like that, Potter answered, "The Wilderness."

Major Shacklebolt had no idea what that meant.

Sometimes Potter studied his bare arms with a confused expression. He turned them this way and that as if expecting to see something that wasn't there. "

"Are you…hurt?" asked Lockheart. He'd treated Potter with equal parts fascination and fear since the scene on Level One. Sometimes it seemed to Shacklebolt that Lockheart was ashamed of something which was why he rarely met Potter's strange eyes. He wondered what it was.

"I'm different," Potter said simply. "More different. Different from the different of before."

It was all gibberish, but Shacklebolt wasn't surprised. What did a man who had been brain dead this long have to say to anyone? When he wasn't babbling, Potter was very single-minded. Once Shacklebolt understood that Severus Snape was a person and not some obscure place, a few research assistants he could trust had been tasked with finding the man. Because Potter  _ kept _ asking for him, like clockwork, every few minutes.

Dr. Lockheart flinched at the name, so Shacklebolt figured he knew something, but when he asked him flat out who Severus Snape was, the doctor only said, "Perhaps you should ask the Director about him," and then got quiet. He had a sour expression on his face now that wouldn't go away and Shacklebolt was tired of wondering about it already. It was frustrating to realize that he knew no more than the young assistants and guards he employed. There was a loop, he understood, and he had been kept very well out of it.

Now Shacklebolt rushed to keep pace with Potter who simply wouldn't hold still, had refused a shirt, and didn't touch the ground. He touched  _ everything _ else, like a child in a toy store—and put everything back in the wrong place—but his feet never hit the floor. Shacklebolt was still coming to terms with the fact that the man was floating in mid-air, but he had always adjusted well to new situations. He was a soldier. Although, if he were honest with himself, Potter was a bit much even for him.

He couldn't explain it, but somehow Potter's pants were already dry, as was his hair. Sometimes, his eyes glowed. Shacklebolt wished he would just go back to sleep already.

They were flanked at the front and rear by guards and nurses and even a few lookie-lous with no common sense. He'd ordered all non-essential personnel back to their posts, but they just came right back. And since Potter wouldn't hold still, there was no way to restrict who got a glimpse of him.

"The Granger Family is on their way to see you," Shacklebolt said. "We should debrief you."

"Debrief?"

"Give you…information."

Potter came to a graceful halt, toes dragging on the floor. It was a relief to hold still finally so the Major took the moment to catch his breath.

"Granger? As in Hermione Granger?" Potter asked.

Shacklebolt laughed in surprise. "Well, not exactly, son. She was the founder of the Granger Research Institute. A long time ago. Her descendants still hold the trusts and manage the estates."

"Trusts. Estates," Potter repeated. He didn't seem to know the words any better than he had understood 'debrief.'

"Where is Hermione Granger now?" he asked.

Shacklebolt laughed again and it turned into a bemused smile. He shook his head. The conversation was surreal. "Dead, son. Dead, of course."

"I very much doubt that," Potter said in his gravel voice. Now it was Potter's turn to smile. It wasn't a friendly, humor-filled smile. It was, in fact, somewhat terrifying. Shacklebolt took a step back.

Potter fell into one of his strange silences again. His green eyes went dull and his chin dropped to his chest. Shacklebolt snapped his fingers an inch from his slack face, but the boy didn't even flinch. And, dammit, he was still floating.

Shacklebolt looked helplessly around for Dr. Lockheart who was far behind them, almost hidden behind all the guards.

"Excuse me, pardon me! Make way!" the doctor huffed as he worked his way through the crowd to stand beside Major Shacklebolt.

"The Wilderness, again?" he asked, considering Potter's still face.

"I guess," Shacklebolt answered." Any idea what that means?"

"I believe he means Area 42," Lockheart said.

Shacklebolt frowned. "That big dome in the middle of the desert? What does this boy have to do with that place?"

Lockheart shrugged. "The Director believes they're connected."

"But you don't?"

Lockheart sniffed and his nostrils curled. "I don't."

Shacklebolt knew there was a lot that wasn't being said here, but Lockheart was being awfully cagey. He tried a different line of questioning. "Any idea why twinkle toes here won't stay on the damn ground?"

"I…I can't even say how he's up and moving," Lockheart said earnestly. "The floating is just icing on the cake."

"Can't we…get him on a gurney or something while he's unconscious?"

Lockheart blinked at him. "He's floating in the middle of the hallway and his eyes glow. Do  _ you _ want to try to move him?"

Shacklebolt considered that. "Point taken. How long before the Granger Family gets here?"

"I'm not sure," Lockheart said with a shake of his head. "They didn't give us an exact time. They sounded a little shocked by the news."

"Who wouldn't be?" Shacklebolt grunted. A second later he jumped a foot in the air.

Everyone, in fact, jumped, because Potter had come to again, just as quickly as he had conked out. His drooping head snapped back up and his eyes locked with Shacklebolt's. "The Wilderness is here," he rasped.

Shacklebolt said gently, "Son, this is a desert. We are in the middle of the desert."

"No, the Wilderness is here. Close. It shouldn't be." And just like that, he disappeared.

Shacklebolt stood with his mouth open on the words he'd been meaning to say to Potter. He shut it very carefully. Then he took a deep breath and turned slowly to the doctor.

"Dr. Lockheart?"

"Yes, Major?"

"Did that boy just disappear?"

"I believe so, Major."

Shacklebolt nodded, then turned to the guards and assistants in the hallway with them. All of them looked ready to faint. "Just checking to see if I was going crazy."

"No, no, you're not going crazy," said Lockheart. "Potter just vanished." All things considered, Lockheart was handling it very well. He didn't actually seem surprised.

"Okay," said Shacklebolt. "Okay," he finished and that was the most he could manage right then.

"Where do you think he went?" Lockheart asked.

"Well, I think we can hazard a guess," said Shacklebolt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by!


	4. Chapter 4

_Present Day, Area 42_

Potter found the Wilderness easily. It was like a beacon calling to him. As the man called Major Shacklebolt had said, they were, indeed, in a desert. The building they called the Granger Research Facility sat down low in a natural valley made of sandy rock. It was protected by the surrounding canyons from much of the harsh climate of the desert. Anything the canyons couldn't keep out would be stopped by double walls and tall gates made of metal. He looked down at the bustle of activity inside the ugly, sprawling, square building he'd just left. They were looking for him, he guessed. He wondered if they had the means to find him. They had such interesting technology, such marvelous machines. He doubted any of them would be any good at finding him if he didn't want to be found, but he made a note to himself to be cautious. The guards would have to navigate the desert at night and Potter had a healthy lead. Besides, the dark didn't hinder him much.

He turned away, towards where he could feel the Wilderness tugging at his mind.

Potter drifted across the desert, not too quickly, but just enough to feel the wind in his hair. It flared out behind him like a banner. The last time he'd been aware of himself, his hair had been short, perfect for fighting. Now it was too long, in the way, a bother.

The sky was vast and dark with all kinds of stars he didn't recognize shining down on him. The wind was cool and the sand looked like pale butter in the moonlight. He took a moment to breathe, to feel the air from this world in his lungs for the first time in a very long time. It wasn't the same. The odd clothing the men at the facility wore, the strange blinking lights and the giant tube of glass—this wasn't the world he'd known. Not anymore.

The Wilderness wasn't far. It was housed in a massive structure and protected by guards. They wore the same kind of uniform as the guards from the research facility.

The gate around the Wilderness was two times as tall as any man and as thick as a tree trunk. The top was threaded through with sharp, looping, jagged wire. Inside the gate, there was another structure, this one domed and all of glass and steel. The Wilderness itself was inside that dome. Potter wanted a closer look.

He tried to slip through the gates and inside just as easily as he'd slipped out of the research facility, but something was stopping him. He couldn't even drop down over the wall. He could feel Severus' hand in all of this. His old teacher had been here: there was something in the slant of the workings, some aura about the ways in and out that Potter could almost taste. And it tasted like Severus. Potter closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, absorbed the feel of the man, how he seemed to surround him. He opened his eyes and wondered again where Severus was; why it was so important to find him; why he felt like he was here now solely for Severus. If only he could remember clearly _why_.

But now he had to put it out of his mind; it was nothing he could figure out at the moment. If Severus didn't want to be found, even Potter couldn't find him. He would have to wait. In the meantime, one way or the other, he'd have to go in _through_ the front door. Luckily, doors and locks couldn't intimidate him. Severus had taught him very well.

Potter landed before the two guards. He wiggled his toes in the sand and liked the sensation enough that he decided he'd try walking more now that he was here. Perhaps he had missed walking without even realizing it.

The guards carried odd-looking black machines of some kind. They pointed them at him when he approached.

"Halt!" one of them shouted. Potter halted.

"Put your hands up, nice and slow!" Potter put his hands up.

One of them moved forward with silver bracelets joined by a chain. He twisted Potter's arm around behind his back, then caught the other one. He put the bracelets on Potter's wrists and they made a loud, metallic noise as they closed. They were remarkably effective at restricting his movements, Potter mused. He tugged at them and found his arms quite handily bound.

"Interesting," he said and jiggled his wrist to hear the metal clang.

The second guard lifted a black box to his mouth. "Bravo to Base, Bravo to Base," he said.

 _"Base here,"_ came a voice from nowhere. It made Potter smile. They had such amazing technology now.

"We've got an intruder. Send someone to cover, we're bringing him in."

_"Roger, Bravo. Proceed with caution. Relief is on route, stand by. ETA 30 minutes. Base out."_

"Bravo out," said the guard. Then he turned his attention to Potter.

"Okay, buddy," he said. "Who are you?"

Potter blinked at him. "I'm Harry Potter, who are you?"

The guard sneered. "Funny, kid. You don't worry about who I am. Worry about the fact that you're in a world of trouble."

"Oh? Am I?"

"Watch your mouth, kid."

Potter felt suddenly very impatient to be done with this. He had to see what the Wilderness was doing here where it didn't belong. And he didn't like the way this guard called him 'kid.' It sounded disrespectful. He handed him back his bracelets.

"These are yours," he said.

The guard's mouth moved wordlessly for a moment. Potter walked past him and placed his hand on the big doors. He felt the lock through all the metal and gears and bolts. When he gave a little push, they all sprang free. _Could Severus have done it faster_ , he wondered. And would Severus have praised him for a job well done?

He doubted it.

"Don't move or I'll shoot!" one of the guards screamed at him.

"This is your last warning!" screamed the other.

The gate was heavy, so Potter just waved his hand at it. The doors flew off and landed hard fifty feet to either side of the portal. Potter actually cringed. He hadn't meant to do that.

He turned back to the guards. "I'm very sorry about your door," he said. Then there was a loud _crack boom_ and then another. He felt a strange, hot bloom in his chest, and then in his stomach. He looked down: there were bloody holes in his body. There was something foreign lodged between his ribs, embedded deep. He reached in, wiggled his fingers a little, found the thing, and pulled. Potter lifted it to his face and turned it this way and that. It was a smashed piece of metal covered in his blood. It was still warm and it smelled like chemicals he couldn't identify. He let the metal fall from his fingers, and then reached into the hole in his stomach. It was a messier bit of work to find this one, but soon the metal was slipping from his bloodied fingers to the sand. Potter looked at the guards. Both of them had taken a few shaky steps backwards.

"That hurt," Potter said simply. The wounds were knitting together already—bone sliding back into place, muscles tangling up around the tendons. Still, it was the principle of the matter. For a moment, he thought about hurting them, really hurting them. Thoughts of Severus stopped him. Instead, he stared at the weapons in the guards' hands: they turned to sand and drifted through their fingers.

The guards watched the sand pooling into pyramids at their feet, then looked back up at him, mouths hanging open and fear in their eyes. He stared back.

"You won't try that again, will you?" he asked.

They shook their heads. "That's good," Potter said. He turned around and made his way to the glass dome. Behind him, the guards were frantically talking into that black box again and voices from nowhere were asking them questions. He heard them say his name, but he didn't really care. And perhaps he didn't like this new technology after all.

The dome was much easier to enter. He just walked right through the glass. Severus hadn't ever been as good at working with glass, he recalled. He halted at the entrance and felt like he was coming home to a place he hated. At the same time, he felt like he'd never left. It was a sick, confused feeling that twisted his stomach into knots.

And, really, had he known he'd end up stuck in a place like this for a thousand years, he might have listened to Severus more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for stopping by!

_ The Past, Snape Manor _

It was raining when she brought the boy to the gates of the manor house. He was small with big, green eyes and he shivered in the cold.

"We don't know what to do with him, Your Lordship. And his stepfather, well…" she said in a small voice peppered with vowels that were indistinct and low. 

"In the village, they say you know things. They say you teach children like him. We can't keep him at the house any longer."

She explained a few of the worst incidents without looking at the boy, for she wasn't ready to lose him, and it was her only defense. If she couldn't see him shivering and near-tears, she could leave him without it hurting so much.

"It's not his fault," she continued. "He's not trying to do things, he just does. Teach him. Teach him how to control it, please."

She splashed off again as quickly as she'd come and Severus Snape was left alone with the child.

"Your mother said you are called Harry Potter," said Severus, leaning down to look the child in the eye.

"I am, sir," replied Potter.

"Do you know what you are, boy?"

The lad firmed his chin. "Different," he said. "I'm different."

Severus considered him—rail thin and pale—and held out a hand. Potter took it—so trusting—and Severus felt a surge of power up his arm so strong it was just shy of painful. He almost called the mother back then; almost told her he had made a mistake, that there was nothing he could do with a boy like this. That there was nothing anyone in the world could do with him. Severus released his hand quickly and was careful not to touch the boy again. But he led him inside, got him dry clothing, and had the servants make him something warm to eat, just the same.

Later, he marched him off to meet the other students.

"What am I to call you, sir?" asked Potter. He had a peasant's way of speaking—the same as his mother—but he spoke politely enough, Severus decided. He didn't seem as dangerous as he was.

"My students call me 'Master Snape.'"

"I am to be your student?"

"You are. Keep up now, boy. This way."

Potter stumbled a little as he hurried after him, his arms full with a pillow and blanket that were to be his while he stayed here. His new clothing was clean, certainly, but too big and it made him walk awkwardly.

"Are you different, too, Master Snape?" he asked.

"I am," Severus answered. His voice was deep and humorless, and Potter was just a little bit afraid of him.

"What…things do you do?" he almost whispered.

Severus stopped walking to look down at Potter. "You can say that I can go anywhere that I like," he answered. His eyes were black; Potter couldn't even see the pupils.

"By walking?" asked Potter uncertainly.

"No," Severus answered and he smiled then, but it was small and tight, and not exactly reassuring. "Perhaps I'll teach you one day. If you prove smart enough. Clever enough. Come along now," he said and strode forward briskly again. Potter rushed to catch up.

The room was bright and the ceiling high, but it was still an old building. Severus made sure that it was kept clean, but sometimes he dreamed of building a proper castle in the new style, as befitted his status. Perhaps he would one day. He'd need more space if he kept accruing students.

He halted in the center of the room. Along the east and west walls were beds, four to each side. Seven boys and girls—all ranging from the ages of eight to fifteen—lined up before him. They stood still and alert like soldiers at attention.

"Children?"

"Yes, Master Snape," they said in unison. The boy behind him jumped in alarm at their volume and enthusiasm. He took a step closer to Master Snape, tried to take the man's hand again, but Severus shook him off with an efficient jerk.

"This is Harry Potter," he said in his clear, low voice. "He's special—different—just like you. He'll be studying with us. Say, 'Hello.'"

"Hello, Harry!" the children said, again in unison. The boy jumped again and seemed to make himself even smaller.

"Very good. Now, treat him well. Explain to him how things work here. I expect all of you in bed within the hour. We'll be going to town tomorrow so be up with the sun."

He gave a swift nod to them, then turned on his heels to Potter. "That's your bed in the corner. Goodnight."

Potter almost followed him out. He was desperately afraid to see him leave. Master Snape walked with long, quick strides but he imagined he could catch him if he just ran fast enough, away from these strange children who were all of them staring at him.

One of the girls caught his hand to stop him from running. He looked at her with frightened eyes and tried to free his hand. He couldn't; she was very strong for a young girl. She had a mass of wild, brown curls that framed her face, and they bounced as she shook her head at him. She was older than him by a number of years, tall, and already rather graceful in how she carried herself. He thought she was beautiful.

"I'm Hermione," she said, "and you can't go where he goes."

Potter stared at his feet. "I can't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You belong here with us. We'll be friends. Come this way. We're making castles."

Potter looked across the room and, sure enough, there was a perfect row of little castles near the far wall. The tallest of them came to his knee. They looked like the toys that wealthy children sometimes had. One of them even seemed to have a drawbridge that could lift and lower. A few of them were a little crude or misshapen, but they were still the most amazing toys he had ever seen. "You…made those?" he asked.

"It's easy. Come on."

She tugged at his hand. Potter dropped his pillow and blanket on the floor and stumbled after her. He sat when she sat. He couldn't stop staring at her.

"You try," she said. The other children were crowding around her, and it was clear to Potter that Hermione ran things around here. Everyone looked to her for just about everything.

"How?"

"Well, just make one," Hermione said and rolled her eyes. "You have seen a castle, right?"

He'd only ever seen them in the storybooks his mother read him, he didn't tell her. He didn't want her to think that he was stupid and inexperienced, that his family never traveled beyond the village, more or less visited castles.

And everyone was looking at him, expecting him to do something deliberately that he'd been beaten for doing accidentally. His hands were sweating.

"Come on then!" one of the boys shouted. "Let's see what you've got!"

"Shh, Ron!" Hermione scolded and the gangly boy went quiet. "Harry will show us when he's ready. Won't you, Harry?"

"Um," Potter said and rubbed his hands together. "Yes."

So Potter closed his eyes and thought of a castle. He imagined the turrets and the towers and the gates and the moat and all the knights practicing on the fields. He thought of banners waving in the wind and princesses strolling through flowers.

He opened his eyes. A tiny little knight rode past his knees and was joined by five more little knights, all on expensive horses and in shining armor. A tiny little lady stared out at him from one of the windows. A tiny little king was followed around by a tiny little advisor near the portcullis. There was the trickling sound of water from the moat, which was wide and clean. Clear blue water was reflected in the polished stone of the castle walls. Wind blew the banners and flags gracefully about, and a flock of birds circled high above. The whole of it was as tall as Master Snape. The other children's castles had moved—as if they had jumped up and landed—and were now arranged around it neatly. They were dwarfed in the shadow of Potter's castle where it perched high on a hill, like Camelot.

"Well," said Hermione at his side, "this is a problem."

"Did I…do something wrong?" Potter whispered. The other children were standing very far away from him now.

Hermione tugged on one of her curls. "I'm not certain what we're going to do with all the little people. Maybe you could…make it go away before Master Snape sees it?"

Potter sighed. He hadn't meant to make it in the first place; he didn't know how to make it go away. The other children were darting strange looks at him, whispering to each other behind their hands. He got a bad feeling that he was different even for children like them. And what if Master Snape threw him out on his ear, told him he was a menace, that there was no place for him here? Potter imagined his heart would break if he had to hear that ever again, especially from a man like Master Snape who seemed almost perfect in every way. Everything he said was perfect, even how he moved was perfect. Potter wanted, very much so, to be like him. Which meant he had to get rid of this castle before sunrise.

"Can you help me? Please?" he asked Hermione. He was begging, but she didn't comment on it.

Hermione shook her head, but smiled. "I can try."


	6. Chapter 6

_ Present Day, The Facility _

The technicians alerted Major Shacklebolt that Director Dumbledore was available for a video conference one hour after he'd ordered double shifts for over half of his guards. It was a relief to know that he could share some of this burden with Dumbledore. Shacklebolt left a few guards outside the conference room door for privacy and hit the button that would pull down the screen and start the video feed.

Dumbledore's aged face was lined with worry as his image came into focus on screen. It took some time to describe all that had happened while Dumbledore was away.

"We know he's there," Shacklebolt said, coming to the end of his long explanation, "but the guards who attempted to apprehend him say he is hostile and very dangerous. I don't want to send anybody else in there just in case he becomes violent. We've got men stationed close, but not too close. They're keeping us apprised of the situation."

After a moment of serious silence, Dumbledore pursed his lips. "Floating?" he asked.

"He floats," explained Shacklebolt.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. Then he seemed to shrug as if he had seen it all before. "Who was it he was asking for?"

"Some guy named Severus Snape."

"Now that  _ is _ interesting," Dumbledore said brightly. "I had a friend run the prints you sent me from the Tank. They belong to Severus Snape. Let me introduce you to your invisible man." He looked down to his left, said, "Ah, here it is," and pressed a button. There was a  _ beep _ as his video feed was replaced by an official document. It had fingerprints at the top and columns of information at the bottom along with a single, color photo. The man in the photo had short dark hair and narrow black eyes. His jaw was strong and well-defined. He could have been anywhere from thirty five to fifty, looked like a man who had never smiled in his whole life. Under the picture was the name Severus Snape.

"Well, I'll be," said Shacklebolt. "He exists."

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore as his video feed reappeared. "That's one way of putting it."

That made Shacklebolt jerk in surprise. "Wait? You know this guy?" he asked incredulously.

Dumbledore smiled expansively and said, "Well, actually, he's an old friend of the Granger Family. An old friend of the Granger Research Institute."

"An old friend who breaks into your state-of-the-art facility?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, 'friend' might be too strong of a word."

"I'll say."

"We'll, you're new to our little facility, Major," said the Director with a bland smile.

"I've been here four years!"

"Like I said: new. You'll get used to Mr. Snape soon enough."

"Not if he keeps popping in whenever he feels like it and setting off my alarms. So, tell me about him. What am I dealing with?"

Dumbledore downplayed the question with a casual wave of his hand. "I've had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Snape on several occasions. Those of us who have worked at the facility for a while get accustomed to his oddities. He tends to come and go as he will. In the past, he's come through the gate. Even when it's locked."

Shacklebolt blinked at that. Dumbledore continued conversationally as if Shacklebolt weren't gaping at him. "And normally he's visible. Normally he'll…interact with us. I'm surprised that he went about this so covertly. But perhaps he had his reasons?"

"Hell, you tell me," Shacklebolt said, deadpan. "I'm just trying to figure all of this out. Is he dangerous? Do I have to worry about the safety of my men?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Is he dangerous? Yes. Undoubtedly. Has he ever been a danger to us? Not exactly, no. We did have a bit of a snafu the year before you joined us."

Shacklebolt stood and began pacing. "What kind of  _ snafu _ ?"

"He broke into Area 42. We don't know why. It gave us all quite a scare when we learned about it. That place is locked down for a reason. We lost a few men even building it."

"Lost men? How?" Shacklebolt asked. He had never had much to do with Area 42. His men guarded it, but what it contained was on a need-to-know basis. He had never needed to know.

"As I said, it's locked down for a reason. We feared the worst when Mr. Snape went trespassing."

"Well, can't we prosecute him for that? Have him arrested?"

Dumbledore outright laughed at that. "I would pay money to see the prison that could hold Mr. Snape. Doors are his specialty, as it were."

Shacklebolt could feel his patience slipping. "I don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean. Hell, I don't know what's going on here at all, Director. But you do, and I'm going to get the whole story from you come hell or high water real soon. Until then, we're going to find this Severus Snape and ask him some questions."

Dumbledore smiled one of his placating smiles. "Unfortunately, he is a difficult man to find. Based on past experience, I've learned that the best way to get to talk to Severus Snape is to wait for him to want to talk to you."

Shacklebolt threw his hands into the air in frustration. "So…we do nothing?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Director Dumbledore," Shacklebolt said after a prolonged moment of silence. "Who the hell is this guy?"

"That," said Dumbledore, "is a very long story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of part one. Thanks for reading!


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